We know what we are but not what we may be
by LilithDrowning
Summary: A new professor arrives at Hogwarts and an unlikely person takes an interest in her. Also, at the insistance of a friend, there will be some D/H eventually and the next chapter if I get any more reviews! ::begs for people to R&R::
1. In a minute there is time...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the rights to Harry Potter, or anything like that. I would like to own a nice set of oil paints, but this disclaimer won't make that any more possible than it will make it possible for me to actually own these characters. JK Rowling owns Harry and company and I don't think she's sending them to me as a Christmas present (though I might get those oil paints).  
  
"As it seems I must do every year, I would like to introduce the new defense against the dark arts teacher, Professor Ophelia Rose."  
  
As Dumbledore spoke, all eyes turned to look at the willowy woman with deep blue eyes, pale skin, and golden hair who stood, smiled distantly, and then sat in one fluid motion.  
  
Neville turned to Ron, his eyes seemingly glued to the beautiful professor, "I-is she a veela?"  
  
Ron shrugged, also staring intently at Professor Rose, "I suppose that if she ever gets angry in class we'll find out!"  
  
If Dumbledore said anything more before the banquet began, be it about the Triwizard Tournament, Draco and Hermione's positions as Head Boy and Head Girl respectively, of the newest restrictions on wandering the grounds and visiting Hogsmeade due to increased activity by the Death Eaters, it fell upon deaf ears. Every young man, and a majority of the young women in the hall were far too distracted by their newest professor who sat at the table in the front of the hall, seemingly searching for someone or something, her eyes sad.  
  
Hermione regarded the males around her with disdain. As she looked up towards Ophelia she noticed that the students were not the only ones enraptured by the golden-haired witch. Snape was gazing at the pretty, elegant woman, looking oddly serene, smoothing his robes, almost smiling.  
  
Ramming her elbow into Harry's side, she managed to break him from his trance long enough to whisper in his ear, "She's a veela Harry. Look at the way Snape's staring at her. How does Dumbledore expect anything to get done in defense against the dark arts with a veela teaching the class?"  
  
Harry shrugged, seeming not to care in the least, "Does it matter Hermione? We're 7th year. We deserve a teacher like this."  
  
"Well maybe you like her, but I for one find the whole thing to be ridiculous. She can't possibly teach if over half the students are making eyes at her during class!"  
  
If Harry had any intention of replying he never quite got around to it because as Hermione finished her rant, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from Harry, Rose stood and practically glided over to the Gryffindor table. As she approached them, her hair brushing her shoulders and her lips turning up in a sad smile, Harry looked as though he was about to fall out of his chair.  
  
The professor opened her mouth, and as she spoke, even Hermione began to think it was the single most beautiful sound in the world, "Harry Potter. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."  
  
"P-pleasure'smine." Harry stuttered and mumbled, taking the delicate, long fingered hand that was extended to him, resisting the urge to kiss its milky smoothness.  
  
"My class will be a difficult one. Do you feel you are up to the challenge?" Ophelia practically sang, her voice falling on all ears like rain on a desert.  
  
"Y-yes ma'am.. Miss. professor."  
  
"Professor Rose will do just fine Harry." She then turned to Hermione, "Miss Granger, congratulations on your appointment as Head Girl. From what Dumbledore has told me you more than deserve the position."  
  
Hermione felt herself blush at the professor's compliment, but mumbled a small "Thank you" nonetheless.  
  
With a half-smile that caused Harry's face to redden (along with the faces of every boy and many of the girls at the table) Ophelia turned away from the Gryffindor table and seemed to be about to return to her seat when Snape put his hand on her shoulder, murmuring something in her ear. As Hermione and Harry watched, a tiny frown flickered over Professor Rose's face. She shook her head, and opened her mouth as if to reply, but Snape cut her off, looking almost desperate. Apparently, whatever he said to the willowy woman upset her because she pulled her shoulder from his grasp roughly, and with an imperious flick of her head, stalked away angrily, leaving Snape standing, with his hand still held out as though her shoulder had not been ripped violently from him, mouth half open.  
  
Hermione leaned towards Harry, snickering, "If I didn't know better, I'd say that Snape was flirting with the new professor!"  
  
But from the dazed and dreamy look in Harry's eyes, it was obvious that he wasn't listening.  
  
The feast over, each house returned to their dorms for some much- needed rest. Hermione had been given her own suite as Head Girl, but followed with the rest of the Gryffindors until she was forced to part ways with them. Waving goodbye to Ron and Harry, Hermione turned down a long corridor and found herself face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy, Slytherin and Head Boy of Hogwarts.  
  
"Finally Granger. I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."  
  
"After 7 years I find that highly unlikely." Hermione scoffed.  
  
"I wouldn't put it past you. But either way, you have to follow me." Draco replied darkly, turning to lead a very reluctant Hermoine down the hall to her room.  
  
She took a step towards him before she realized what the fact that she was following Draco Malfoy meant, "Wait. We're not. living together. are we?"  
  
Draco turned on his heel, "Yes. We are. I'm not any happier about it than you are but I have to deal with it so just follow me and shut up for a change!" he snapped, marching down the hall angrily.  
  
Hermione kept about five feet between the two of them as she followed the person who was quite possibly her worst enemy in Hogwarts towards what would be their room.  
  
As they reached the painting that served as the door leading to what Hermione hoped would be a common room, rather than one large bedroom. Or worse, one huge bed. No. Dumbledore would never do that. right? She shuddered at the thought.  
  
Draco approached the painting, a darly hued faerie with jet black hair, grey tinted skin, flame-red eyes and lips, a gauzy black dress with tattered ends, and bat-like wings, and cleared his throat, "Serpent!"  
  
Hermoine scowled and the faerie chuckled, swinging out to reveal a commons room, smaller, but cozier than the one in Gryffindor, "I get to choose the next password." She declared, throwing herself down in a large red overstuffed armchair.  
  
Draco shrugged, "I couldn't care less Granger, just as long as you don't talk to me or come anywhere near me for the duration of the year."  
  
"That sounds like a perfectly acceptable plan to me." Hermione paused for a moment, "Wait. Who let you in here to begin with?"  
  
"In where?"  
  
"The suite." Hermione said patronizingly.  
  
"Oh. Professor Rose. Dumbledore said he had something to attend to so he asked her to bring me up here."  
  
Hermione laughed, "I bet that made you very happy. She makes all the boys happy."  
  
"Oh grow up Granger. She's not even a full veela. Anyone with half an ounce of magic in them can guard against her. It isn't exactly difficult." Draco spat.  
  
Recalling Harry and Ron's immediate absorption with the professor, as well as her own, Hermione blushed. But we didn't know she was part veela. We were caught off guard. I'll warn Harry and Ron next time. If Draco can do it, it can't be that hard.  
  
"Is she coming back? Or bringing Dumbledore up?"  
  
"She mentioned it. Said she needed to talk to Professor Snape though." Draco swung his legs over the arm of his green armchair and beckoned to his ferret Mask who skittered over to him with a small chirping squeak and leapt onto his shoulder.  
  
From across the room, Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, hissed, back arched and tail bottle-brushed.  
  
Scowling, Draco pointed to the cat, "You had better keep that thing the hell away from my ferret."  
  
"Crookshanks wants nothing to do with your rodent. And after what Moody did to you in our fourth year, I wouldn't think you would either." Hermione argued, leaving her seat to walk over to her disgruntled cat and ruffle his ears, scratching behind them until he relaxed and even began to purr softly, "Do you Crookshanks?" she cooed lovingly, picking up the huge orange cat and setting him in her lap as she returned to her armchair in front of the fireplace.  
  
Just as silence seemed about to overtake them, a silky rustling was heard at the doorway and Rose glided in, smiling her distant smile, first at Hermione and then at Draco who, as he had claimed, seemed entirely unaffected by her magical allure.  
  
"Hello Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy." The odd way in which she said both their first and last names made her voice seem even more musical, more enchanting, "I'm pleased to see that you have settled in so well. I was told that you do not get along with one another, yet everything seems perfectly in order here. No yelling or clashing of spells yet."  
  
"Yet" echoed Hermione and Draco simultaneously, scowling at each other.  
  
Rose smiled, "Well, you might want to save those spells for the Triwizard Tournament." When both Draco and Hermione gave her a puzzled look, the professor queried, "Aren't you going to enter?"  
  
With a bitter laugh, Draco replied, "Why bother? Everyone knows that Mr. Perfect Potter is going to be chosen. and probably win, again, becoming the hero of the school for a seventh year running."  
  
"Do I detect jealousy Malfoy?" Hermione smirked.  
  
"No. Who wants that anyway, getting everything he's gotten because he's a bloody celebrity, not because his abilities merit it." Draco spat the word "celebrity" as though it were a curse.  
  
Ophelia shook her head, facing Draco "Everything that Harry has achieved, he has because he is an exceptional wizard," she paused, "But you have a potential for greatness as well. If not the same kind as Harry's."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Draco challenged, standing so abruptly that Mask almost fell off his shoulder.  
  
"Just that if you wished to, you could be great," glancing about, as though she was checking to assure herself that everything in the room was in order, then being satisfied that it was, the willowy professor abruptly changed the subject, "Well, as you begin settling into your bedrooms, you will each notice that there's a painting on your wall. The panting will lead to your house common rooms. You each need to come up with a password, and never give it to anyone unless you are one hundred percent sure you can trust them, as the painting portal goes both ways. You need the password to get in from your common rooms as well. After you have completed that, I would suggest that you both get some sleep. As I recall from the roster, you have my class first thing in the morning." She turned to leave, calling over her shoulder "Think on what I have said, both of you. Sweet dreams."  
  
When the beautiful half-veela had left the room, Draco breathed a small sigh and picked up Mask, who had leapt from his shoulder to the arm of his green chair when he had stood abruptly.  
  
"What's with you?" he asked, noticing the slight look of disgust on Hermione's face.  
  
Tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head, the witch scooped up Crookshanks in her arms and stomped over to her room, growling, "Nothing, Malfoy," before slamming the door.  
  
With a disinterested shrug, Draco retired to his room as well, leaving the little common room fire still burning.  
  
The next morning at breakfast, Hermione's demeanor had gone from bad to worse. What had previously been a slight annoyance at the appointment of a veela as a professor had turned to near loathing.  
  
"And she said Draco Malfoy could be great! To his face! As if he doesn't love himself enough already! Snape's gotten to her. She'll probably take points off of me just because I'm not infatuated with her!" Hermione ranted, shoving her barely-touched food away from her before crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
Ron smiled sympathetically "Well, you never know Hermione. She doesn't seem bad to me."  
  
"That's because you're male! You are male and she is half-veela!" Hermione screeched.  
  
"Jeeze Hermione, is living with Malfoy getting to you that much already? Let's just get through our first defense against the dark arts class and then we can make our decision about her." Ron suggested, calmly munching on a piece of toast.  
  
"Yes, it is getting to me, and I have already seen her encourage and compliment Draco. What more do I need to know?"  
  
Harry frowned worriedly, "Hermione. This isn't like you. Usually you're the one trying to tell Ron or I to calm down." As Hermione opened her mouth to speak, Harry held up his hand in a gesture for silence, "look, I don't know what's bothering you, but if Ron or I can help, please tell us."  
  
"Yeah. We can take care of Malfoy for you if you'd like!" Ron added around a mouthful of toast.  
  
Hermione looked about to have another outburst regarding Professor Rose, so Harry made what he thought would be a complete change of subject. "So, are either of you planning on trying for a spot to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?"  
  
Ron shook his head, almost laughing, "Nah. Everyone knows you'll be picked to compete, Harry. Besides, I saw what you had to do three years ago, and quite honestly, I'm not sure I could handle a dragon."  
  
Harry shrugged, "I don't know. I think you could. Besides, I may not even enter. Give someone else a chance, y'know?"  
  
Hermione leapt from her seat, slamming her palm down on the table, "No! Harry, you have to enter!"  
  
Harry looked up at her, puzzled, "Hermione? Wha-"  
  
"You have to. You can't give Malfoy the chance to compete!"  
  
"Hermione?" Harry was still genuinely confused, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Malfoy. Professor Rose is encouraging him to enter the Triwizard Tournament. You can't let him be picked to compete! He's one of You-Know- Who's. or at least his father is." Seeming to suddenly realize that she was standing, with a small blush, Hermione took her seat.  
  
Having noticed Hermione's outburst (just as half the hall had) McGonagall made her way over to the Gryffindor table and laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder, "Miss Granger, please keep the volume of your voice a bit lower. As Head Girl your responsibility is not only to your house, but to all of Hogwarts, including," she paused to look at Harry and Ron as well before continuing, "the Head Boy. As for Harry entering the Triwizard Tournament, I am afraid he doesn't have a choice. After having won once already, an considering what happened that year, Harry is not permitted to enter again." She smiled at Hermione, "However, I don't think that exactly ruins Gryffindor's chances for a champion, now does it?"  
  
Hermione blushed furiously, either out of shame or pleased embarrassment, "No Professor, it doesn't."  
  
"So you will offer your name to the Goblet of Fire?" McGonagall encouraged.  
  
"Of course I will," Hermione assured her. As McGonagall walked away and out of earshot she added, "If only to make sure that Malfoy doesn't win."  
  
Hermione entered defense against the dark arts with the mindset that it was going to be a disaster, even though Ron and Harry continued to try to convince her otherwise.  
  
As the students filtered in and began to take their seats, Hermione inwardly groaned, seeing Draco Malfoy, surrounded by his pack of Slytherin sluts, headed by Pansy, saunter into the room.  
  
Even if he is built and handsome and just about every girl in the school thinks he's the best thing since Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, he's still a pig!  
  
"Am I so good looking that even you have to stare at me? Honestly Granger. I thought the Head Girl would have a little more dignity." Draco scoffed, shoving past Hermione with his harem close behind, followed up by Crabbe and Goyle who looked rather glum that they didn't have a harem.  
  
Blushing for about the millionth time that day and somehow unable to think of a witty comeback, Hermione managed to stumble over to a seat next to Harry and fall into it with a moan of self-pity.  
  
"Don't let him get to you. Honestly Hermoine. I don't know what's gotten into you." Harry shook his head.  
  
"It's just Malfoy. I have to deal with him 24/7." She replied hollowly, but she could tell that Harry was having an exceedingly hard time believing her.  
  
Harry was actually about to voice the opinion that there was no way in hell he believed her when Professor Rose floated into the room and the entire class fell silent.  
  
For some inexplicable reason, Ophelia's robes seemed to cling to her body, accentuating her willowy form and graceful movement. Standing before the class, she smiled the same distant smile she had been giving everyone since she had arrived at Hogwarts, "Hello class. Before we begin our first lesson I would like to introduce myself and dispel a few rumours. I am Professor Ophelia Rose, your new defense against the dark arts teacher. Contrary to popular belief I am not veela. Not entirely. Rather, I am a half-veela. If I were a true veela none of you would be able to listen to me you would be so enamored by how I would appear to you and the magic I would be emitting."  
  
From the back of the room one particularly bitter girl piped up, "Most of them can't pay attention to anything but you anyway."  
  
Ophelia sighed sadly, "So I've noticed. That is why our first lesson will be on resisting the charms of a veela. One student has already taken it upon himself to learn this spell. Mr. Malfoy, would you be so kind as to come to the front of the room?"  
  
With a nonchalant shrug, Draco stood upon Professor Rose's beckoning and strode to the front of the class, shooting a superior look in Harry and Hermione's direction as Rose began speaking again.  
  
"This is not so much a spell I will be teaching you as it is a magical work of willpower," as the professor spoke, Hermione watched the eyes of the young men around her follow the beautiful woman's every movement, "To perform the initial spell you must take out your wand, point it at me and shout resisto lustano! As you do so, imagine a wall being built up around me. Now, the trick to this spell and the reason it is so hard to perform successfully is because you must subconsciously maintain this wall at all times. If, by chance, your wall weakens, you must recast the spell, which can be quite a bother," turning to Draco, she added, "Would you demonstrate the spell please?"  
  
With a confidence that made Hermione sick to watch, Draco held out his wand and said in a close to bored tone "Resisto lustano." As he spoke, a thin beam of yellow light was emitted from his wand and reached out to the professor, wrapping itself around her until, with a final shimmer, it faded away. This being done, Draco returned his wand to his robe, but remained standing in the front of the room.  
  
"Alright, now it's your turn." The professor indicated to the wands lying on her student's desks, untouched, "well, go on, try it."  
  
When no one even stirred to pick up their wand, Ophelia sighed with exaggerated resignation, "I suppose then, that Mr. Malfoy is the only one among us who wishes to test the limits of his abilities."  
  
At that, Hermione shot out of her seat, held up her wand and declared "Resisto lustano!" a thin thread of light, looking exactly like Draco's shot from her wand and wrapped itself, cocoon-like around the professor before dissolving into nothing.  
  
"An impressive display, Miss Granger. It's amzing what one can do when given the correct motivation." A few of the Slytherins snickered and Hermione turned a deep shade of pink once more. Taking pity on Hogwarts' Head Girl, Professor Rose smiled "Very well done. Please take your seat."  
  
Following Hermione's example, thread after thread of light began zooming towards the new professor, some forming a cocoon, others dissolving before they reached the willowy young woman who smiled at each spell successfully cast on her.  
  
Per the usual, Neville found himself at odds with their newest spell, shooting weak spurts of oddly colored light threads at Rose repeatedly while Harry, Ron and Hermione tried in vain to get the spell to work correctly. Draco, who had since returned to his seat, smirked and let out a malicious laugh.  
  
"Having trouble Longbottom? Maybe it's true love!"  
  
Ophelia whirled on her heels and glared at Draco, a great emptiness in her voice, "With a veela there is no love." 


	2. I used to be a superhero...

Alone in her office, Ophelia began to unpack her belongings with what would appear to an observer to be an agonizing, meticulous slowness. Humming softly to herself, the half-veela pulled paintings, wind chimes, sun catchers, incense burners, and numerous wall hangings from a small, enchanted tote bag. As she draped a deep blue tie dyed cloth that doubled as a sarong over the summer, over the Victorian sofa Hogwarts had provided for her, there was a severe knock at the door.  
  
A small sigh escaped her lips as she strode across the room and opened the door to see the tall, dark figure of one of her fellow professors, "Snape. What brings you here?"  
  
Snape coughed and looked over his shoulder. Ophelia laughed sarcastically, "What? Don't want to be seen acting social?"  
  
"That is not it at all, I assure you," Snape replied darkly, lowering his eyes to the floor, seemingly impressed with the cracked stone.  
  
Rose, ignoring his statement, held the door open wide for him, "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."  
  
When he had brushed past her with a small grunt of displeasure at having his defense ignored, Ophelia shut the door behind him and turned to look upon the intruder into her small haven. Snape was sitting awkwardly on the couch, picking at the blue cloth, trying to look entirely disinterested in Ophelia and her half completed decorating job. After staring at the dark haired man for a few minutes she commented, "You never answered my question."  
  
"Question?" he growled, keeping his defensive, self-assured poise, sounding as much like the borderline cruel man that his students were used to as ever.  
  
"Snape. What are you doing here?"  
  
"I wished to speak to you about your class this morning. Is resisting a veela really appropriate material for a defense against the dark arts class?" he demanded, his fingers still picking at the material he was seated upon, his eyes locked with Professor Rose's for a few brief moments.  
  
Rose shook her head "It was necessary to make the class, and life around here in general, run smoothly and you know it," noting that Snape was still making faces as though she had caused his favorite students to be bitten by vampires, Ophelia took a step towards him, "If you object that much to my teaching material you can take it up with Dumbledore. I am sure he would have some wonderful suggestions for me. I do not need you telling me what I should and should not teach."  
  
"No! It's not that." Snape argued, suddenly seeming extremely out of character.  
  
"Then what is it? You needed an excuse to come here? Honestly. You are too powerful a wizard for that. No. I know you want this job. I told you in the hall before that I do not require your help. I still do not. I can run my class and I can run it well. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I still have some unpacking to do," Ophelia nodded curtly to Professor Snape, opening the door for him to leave.  
  
Snape stood, his robes billowing around him, "If you object to my company so-"  
  
"Yes. I do." Ophelia cut him off before he could continue with his self-righteous speech, "Now leave. Please."  
  
"If that is what you truly wish. Forgive me for my intrusion," Snape shot back. Turning his nose up at Ophelia, Snape swept past her and out of the room, into the halls of Hogwarts, heading back to the dungeons where he and the rest of the Slytherins resided.  
  
When she was sure he was gone, Professor Rose leaned against the wall and slid slowly into a sitting position. *What was that all about?*  
  
As Snape was making his way back to the dungeons, the thought of Ophelia rejecting his company and advice bothering him a lot more than it ought to have, he glanced into the Great Hall to see Hermione dropping her name in the Goblet of Fire.  
  
"Miss Granger!" he called, "Curfew is in mere minutes. It wouldn't look good for Gryffindor to lose points because of Hogwarts' Head Girl being out of her room past curfew."  
  
Hermione turned and scowled at him, "I can make it back to my room in time. I don't need you to tell me what time it is."  
  
"Insolence," Snape warned, pulling his robes close to his body, "will get you nowhere, I assure you."  
  
With a small "hmph" of resentment, Hermione stomped past Snape and out of the hall.  
  
"I expect you to be in your room in exactly three minutes Miss Granger!" Snape demanded as Hermione sauntered off, trying not to let the professor's sour mood (only one of many) get to her.  
  
When she was almost sure that the professor was out of earshot, Hermione muttered something scathing about Snape sticking his large nose in everyone else's business and dashed up a flight of stairs leading to her suite. As she approached the faerie painting, she was about to give the password when, looking up from her crouched position on a toadstool, the faerie giggled manically.  
  
"Hey! You never talk to me. The boy talks to me. Nice specimen of manhood, that one."  
  
"I couldn't care less about how he looks," Hermione growled.  
  
The faerie didn't seem to believe her, "Oh, but he is so wonderful. The faerie queen would like him very much, she would."  
  
"Well good for the faerie queen. I'm not a faerie queen so I suppose that my tastes are a little different," the young witch tossed her frizzy hair over her shoulder and sighed impatiently.  
  
"Don't you like me? I'm just trying to make conversation," the faerie lamented, "And you're so lucky to be sleeping with such a handsome man!"  
  
"I AM NOT SLEEPING WITH DRACO MALFOY!" Hermione cried, her face bright red.  
  
The faerie grinned mischievously, "And why not?"  
  
"Because that would be ludicrous! I don't even like him as a human being, let alone as anything else!" Hermione sputtered, outraged at what the faerie was suggesting.  
  
"The lady doth protest much methinks," the tiny winged woman in the painting quipped, pulling a small face at the witch before her.  
  
Hermione was about to reply when she heard a voice behind her, "Miss Granger. What did I say about being in your room at curfew?"  
  
Hermione groaned, and turned to face Snape, "This is in no way my fault. The faerie in the painting wouldn't stop blathering on about-"  
  
"Oh yes! Just pin your crimes on me!" the faerie piped up from behind her.  
  
Snape scowled at the faerie, silencing her. Hermione regained her composure and continued, "And why were you following me?"  
  
"With the ruckus you were making a blast-ended skrewt could have found you. Not only were you out after hours, but you were making a great amount of noise, Miss Granger. I am afraid I will have to deduct twenty points from Gryffindor for this," Snape intoned darkly.  
  
"That is entirely unfair! I as about to enter the room when the faerie just began talking to me!" Hermione objected.  
  
"Miss Granger, any further argument from you and I will be forced to deduct more points from your house. Now return to your room and I do not wish to see you until breakfast tomorrow morning," Snape snapped at her, pointing a pale finger at the painting portal.  
  
Glaring at the faerie as darkly as she could, Hermione muttered "Serpent," and stepped into the door as the painting swung open.  
  
Hearing the door slam behind her, Hermione stomped over to a bookcase that had been provided for her and Draco's textbooks and, retrieving her Advanced Arithmancy text, she retired to her chair for a good hour's worth of studying. As she poured over the pages, Draco waltzed into the common room via the faerie painting.  
  
"You're out late Malfoy," she said between clenched teeth.  
  
"Yes mother," Draco replied sarcastically, "You know I don't need you to point these things out to me Granger. I'm a big boy. Besides," he poked his head around the side of her chair and slammed his hand down on her book, grinning maliciously, "you aren't trying to help me anyway. You don't even like me as a human being. You said so yourself."  
  
"And when did you finally figure that out?"  
  
"Oh, a little faerie told me," Draco mused, flipping the pages of Hermione's book, purposefully losing her place for her, "You really shouldn't be saying things about other people."  
  
"And you're one to talk?" seeing the angry look in Draco's eyes, Hermoine sighed, "Look. We have to live together. Let's try to at least avoid each other, if not leave each other alone entirely."  
  
"You're the one who started it. I just walked in the room and-" Malfoy began to protest haughtily, but Hermione stopped him.  
  
"Just shut up, okay? Don't you have a small animal to torture or a potion to make for Snape or something? Please just leave me alone."  
  
For once, Draco obeyed.  
  
****  
  
Sorry this was so short. I had some terrible, overly sappy drivel written up and I hated it so about half of this chapter ended up getting scrapped when I read it over before typing it. 


	3. I went to the woods because I wished to ...

For the remainder of the week Snape was in the foulest of moods. Within the space of 24 hours he somehow found reason to deduct over 50 points from Gryffindor, and 20 points from both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. He entirely avoided Ophelia and the rest of the school tried to avoid him as much as possible. Potions was pure misery and horror, it was even becoming so to the Slytherins as no one, not even Draco Malfoy, could seem to do anything to his satisfaction.  
  
However, as Potions grew steadily worse, Defense Against the Dark Arts became more interesting, and soon even Hermione found the class, and even the teacher, bearable.  
  
Exiting the classroom, Hermione, Ron, and Harry babbled excitedly about their latest lesson.  
  
"I was completely unaware that spontaneous human combustion is really a slow-acting curse!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
"Well, there had to be some kind of explanation for it," Rom reasoned, "and at least now I know how to prevent it." He shuddered at the thought of unexpectedly bursting into flames.  
  
"Ron, I don't think you really have to worry about anyone putting such an obscure curse on you," Harry laughed, shoving Ron gently.  
  
"But what it Malfoy learned it? Or Snape? I'd be sitting in the middle of Potions and all of a sudden. FOOM!!" he waved his arms about in an attempt to imitate flames.  
  
"Ron, really. There's nothing for you to worry about. You're getting as paranoid as a Muggle psychology student!" Hermione laughed at her own joke, but simply got confused looks from Harry and Ron who were not taking Muggle studies.  
  
The trio had been standing outside of Ophelia's classroom as they talked, and were about the start off to their next class, when Snape brushed past them and into the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, which Ophelia was still occupying.  
  
When Snape had disappeared from view, slamming the door behind him, Ron grinned wickedly at Harry and Hermione, "Let's see what he wants, eh?"  
  
"Ron!" Hermione chided, "We can't spy on our teachers!"  
  
"Yes we can!" Ron objected, "Watch me." He muttered a spell beneath his breath and pressed his ear to the crack between the door and the doorjamb, "Besides," he added, "Any dirt on Snape is worth more than its weight in gold."  
  
"Ron, that made no sense." Harry pointed out as he joined his friend, ear to the door.  
  
With a final, defeated sigh, Hermione slunk over to the door, joining her friends in their spying. "We're going to get in trouble." She fretted.  
  
"No we're not. Shhhh. They're talking."  
  
*****  
  
Ophelia turned with a start to see Snape standing behind her, back rested against the door. "Come to give me commentary on my lessons again?" she growled dangerously.  
  
"No." Snape faltered, "Your lessons have been going well though I hear."  
  
"That has to be the worst pick up line I have ever heard," Ophelia laughed sarcastically.  
  
"That was not a pick up line, to be sure. I would never want to.. 'pick up' anyone." Snape frowned at the, to him, unfamiliar phrase.  
  
"Of course you wouldn't. Now, what do you want?" Professor Rose said, obviously not believing the dark haired man in front of her.  
  
"I would like to. Apologize for my behavior."  
  
(Ron gasped, "Snape is apologizing?!" his comment earned him a smack on the back of the head from Hermione who muttered something about being late to class)  
  
"You would?" Ophelia sounded almost as surprised as Ron, "well. I. I don't know."  
  
"Just accept it," Snape muttered, "I don't do this too often."  
  
("That's for sure," Harry murmured)  
  
Ophelia stood, trying to smile at her fellow professor, "That's nice of you." Snape cringed at being referred to as "nice" and Ophelia laughed, "People don't call you that too often, do they?"  
  
"No. not usually. Not that I care. Their petty lives interest me not. I do my job, and that is what counts."  
  
"Is it?" Ophelia queried.  
  
("Okay, this is getting far too weird for me," Ron whispered, earning himself another smack)  
  
"Yes," came the stoic reply, "It is."  
  
Ophelia nodded, still seeming unconvinced, and swept over to Snape, looking at him strangely, "Is there, um, anything else you wished to tell me?"  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
("Please tell me that this is not what I think it is." Hermione swallowed hard, hearing the tone in Snape's voice.)  
  
"All right. Well, if there's nothing more, I thank you for your apology Severus." Ophelia replied briskly, "Now, I do have some papers to grade, so if you wouldn't mind?"  
  
Ron, Harry, and Hermione scrambled away from the door as they heard Ophelia place her hand on the knob, about to turn it, when Snape put his hand over hers, stopping her.  
  
"Wait."  
  
("Oh no," Hermione covered her ears.)  
  
"What is it Severus?"  
  
"I-I, I think that my feelings for you may go beyond that of a colleague," Snape faltered, staring intently at the strikingly beautiful woman before him.  
  
Ophelia's small smile faded, and she looked away from him, "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I think I might, well, that is to say that I could possibly, maybe, perhaps," he frowned, desperately attempting to regain his composure and his dignity, "I might, like you."  
  
("Oh my GOD!! This is too good!" Ron giggled excitedly, clamping both hands over his mouth.)  
  
"Severus, despite what you think, you do not love me."  
  
"I never said that I did," came the swift, disgruntled reply.  
  
"Well, either way, you do not love me. I am half-veela and you appear to be letting that factor affect you for some entirely unknown reason. I guessed you to be much too powerful to allow that to happen, but perhaps I was incorrect." Professor Rose sighed gently.  
  
"I am a good wizard," Snape objected, trying not to tell her that he really did not think that any of this was due to his magical abilities or lack thereof.  
  
"Look, why don't you cast the anti-veela charm spell on me and we can just get this out of the way and act like normal professors for the rest of the year?" Ophelia cut in before he could say more, before he could make any more proclamations.  
  
"I really don't-" Snape began to argue, but was stopped short.  
  
"Just do it, please. Don't make this any more painful for yourself and me than it has to be." Ophelia seemed on the verge of begging him.  
  
With a finally growl of resignation, Snape removed his wand from a pocket on the inside of his robe, flourished it before him, and intoned, "Resisto lustano."  
  
Ophelia nodded as the cocoon faded from about her, "There. Now, I do have to grade those papers. I really do. If you still wish to befriend me now that my glamour is no longer in place for you, I would be more than happy to comply."  
  
Snape muttered an angry "Of course." And turned, swinging open the door before Hermione, Ron, and Harry had sufficient time to scramble down the hall. Upon seeing them in a small heap on the floor across the hall he turned livid with rage, "WHAT are you three doing?!"  
  
"Going, um, to class?" Ron suggested meekly.  
  
"Yes. I had forgotten my Transfiguration book and Ron and Hermione wouldn't let me go back for it alone." Harry piped up, quickly covering for Ron's blunder.  
  
"This is not the way to McGonagal's classroom. Nor is it the way to the Gryffindor dorms." Snape pointed out coldly, his voice dangerously low.  
  
"Well, we got a bit turned around," Hermione added, "The stairwells changed on us."  
  
As she spoke the low rumbling of the stairwells changing positions could be heard. "And they are changing again so soon? Really, Miss Granger." Snape glared at her, "For this I ought to give you all detention and deduct at least ten points from Gryffindor. each."  
  
As he spoke, Ophelia appeared in the doorway behind him, her pretty face twisted in worry, "What's going on? Oh! Harry, Ron, Hermione! What are you doing here? Classes started a few minutes ago."  
  
"They were spying on you, that's what they were doing!" Snape interjected angrily.  
  
"Severus, let me handle this. You have a class to attend to I believe?" Ophelia suggested, laying a hand on Snape's arm, which he shrugged off.  
  
"Of course," and with that he stalked off down the hall, in a worse mood than ever.  
  
When she was sure he had gone, Professor Rose urged Ron, Harry and Hermione to their feet, "Now, what exactly did you hear?" she queried, her eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
"Nothing! Really! You heard what we told Snape, right?" Ron declared.  
  
"I may be blonde, but I am not stupid Mr. Weasley. The truth," when none was offered, her deep blue eyes seemed to spark with anger, "Now!"  
  
"We heard everything," Hermione sighed with resignation.  
  
"You understand that spying on two of your teachers was in extremely poor taste and that you will need to be punished, correct?" Ophelia crossed her arms over her chest. "You are seventh year. You really ought to know better than this. It was extremely childish of you."  
  
"Yes," came the chorused reply, seeming almost rehearsed.  
  
"I will not speak of this to Dumbledore if, during dinner tonight you instead come to my office. I have some cleaning that needs done and I don't have the time to do it all."  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione grinned at each other, amazed at their luck.  
  
"Oh," Ophelia added as almost an afterthought, "If I hear a single word breathed, whispered, written or even suggested about what you heard, I will tell Dumbledore everything and make sure that you receive the strictest punishment possible."  
  
The trio's shoulders slumped in disappointment.  
  
*****  
  
Yes, I know, Snape seems ooc. ::sighs:: I'll keep telling myself that it's because Ophelia's a half-veela and love can do that to you. yeah. that's it. 


	4. In the jukebox of her memory...

As soon as she had sent Harry, Hermione, and Ron on their way, Professor Rose slid back into her classroom, shutting the door gently behind her and leaning against it as Snape had done only minutes before. She stared at her desk, it's surface littered with papers to be graded, knick knacks, a tiny, centimeter high pixie in a globe, flitting around its' habitat carelessly, and a model of an ancient looking castle among other things.  
  
Slowly, almost measured, she approached the cluttered piece of furniture and with a sudden angry energy, swept all the papers onto the floor, her entire body rigid as she watched them fluttered like feathers in the air. As the last one hit the floor, she crumbled, folding in on herself, hugging her legs to her chest and shaking her head, shoulders and body heaving.  
  
"He doesn't love me. No one does. No one can. No matter what he thinks he's feeling… he isn't. It's just my glamour, just my charm. Just the fact that I'm a veela."  
  
After sitting there for a few more minutes, she slowly brought herself to her feet and walked swiftly over to a corner cupboard and threw open the door. Inside the cupboard was an ornate, shallow bowl, filled with a shining, silvery liquid. She stared into the liquid and was drawn back…  
  
"Ophelia!"  
  
She turned suddenly to find herself in a shop of some sort. A bookshop. It took the veela a moment to realize where she was. She was inside her memory.  
  
Before her eyes she watched a young man with a goatee and mustache hurrying towards her younger self who was crouched, staring intently at the bindings of the used books.  
  
Tackling her from behind, the young man caught her in an embrace. Her younger self blushed and smiled, obviously pleased at the attention and affection she was receiving.  
  
"Are you ready? Have you picked out a book yet?" the man queried, ticking her sides briefly before letting her go.  
  
"Yes. I have. Are you ready then as well?" she watched herself ask, still blushing furiously.  
  
"I certainly am! Let's pay and then be on our way," The brown haired man offered her his hand as he stood, which her younger self gladly, almost too gladly, took.  
  
Then the memory faded  
  
But another appeared.  
  
It occurred mere hours after the first, Ophelia recalled, seeing that her other self was dressed exactly the same. The scene, however, was a basement family room, lit with a soft yellow light. There was brown colored furniture littering the room rather randomly and an old, beat up armchair had been thrust into the corner, with Ophelia and the young man curled up on it.  
  
As Professor Rose watched them, she saw their faces inch closer and closer to one another, before they pulled away, almost embarrassed. This silly, obvious act was repeated close to ten times before their lips touched, tentatively at first, then more assured, and soon, Ophelia was watching herself do things she would have rathered she didn't have to see.  
  
As the embarrassed veela turned her face away from the kissing couple, the landscape shifted into a cold attic room where her younger self sat, sobbing on the floor, little bony shoulders heaving. Looking closer, Ophelia saw cuts on her legs and arms, finally realizing  
  
*He had hurt me… We fought and I didn't know how to stop hurting…* She stared at the razor cuts on the young veela's legs, her legs and shuddered, remember what she had done, what her philosophy had been. As if on cue, her younger self murmured breathily  
  
"Physical pain numbs emotional pain."  
  
She wasn't sure where she had heard it first, but wished she hadn't.  
  
Again the scene shifted, this time to her and the boy Ophelia had seen herself with earlier, sitting on a log at the crest of a green, grassy hill. It was autumn and the wind nipped at their noses, making them red.  
  
She was crying.  
  
He told her that he couldn't be with her any more, that she made him do things, stupid things he would never do if she weren't around, that he wasn't sure if he even loved her, that she was still beautiful, that if he were choosing a woman based solely on looks, she would be his very first choice, that the sex had been great, that they were not right together, and then back to the fact that her presence made him do things that he didn't want to do.  
  
She cried.  
  
She begged him to stay.  
  
She threatened to kill herself.  
  
She cried some more.  
  
He simply shook his head.  
  
Ophelia watched herself in such a hopeless display, almost ashamed. *I should never have given him such power over me, over my feelings. I should have known he only wanted me because I was a veela. I was a fool.*  
  
Slowly now, the scene shifted again, this time to her young self and another young man, this one tall, well built, handsome, well groomed, and very much obsessed with her body.  
  
They were kissing. He was saying he loved her. Clothing was being shed slowly, bodies were moving erotically.  
  
Ophelia turned away.  
  
*I could watch a million more scenes from my life like this. I did it to myself a million times. I fell in love, I worked my charms, they told me they loved me, I believed them, I got hurt. End of every single one of those stories.* she thought bitterly, her mind now wandering to Snape and how he too would become one of another thousand if she let him. It would be very easy to gain his companionship in any way she desired. Any way but in real love. He would never love her. No man would ever really truly be able to love her.  
  
Being a veela made it impossible.  
  
She sighed and drew herself out of the pensieve, back into her office and the mess she had created. With a disgruntled sigh at her own temper, Professor Rose began gathering up the papers she had scattered in her tempestuous burst of emotion.  
  
Finding the last paper hiding under her tank of exotic tropical mini- nymphs, Ophelia laid the stack gently on her desk, straightened the old ink blotter she had bought in muggle London, where she had lived a good bit of her life despite her veela heritage, and seeing that the office was in order, retired to her room without getting any of the work done that she had wished to.  
  
********  
  
Later that afternoon the trio of Gryffindors headed to Professor Rose's office rather than dinner, as ordered.  
  
"You know, Rose really did let us off a lot more lightly than we deserved," Hermione noted, seeing both Ron and Harry's shoulders slumping lower and lower as they neared the office they were to clean.  
  
"No, it's not that. It's just, well, we've got this great dirt on Snape and we can't even talk about it!" Ron moaned, shaking his head sadly.  
  
Hermione seemed as though she was about the give Ron a good smack, when Draco Malfoy stepped around the corner on his way to dinner.  
  
Sneering, he pointed in the direction he was headed, "Oh look, it's Potter, the Weasel and Granger. The Great Hall is that way you stupid gits, or aren't you going to dinner? You might want to get some free food while you can Weasley. I hear your mother doesn't have all that much to spare, what with your family being so poor and all."  
  
Before Ron could leap on Draco and rip out his throat or his testicles (whichever seemed more readily available), Harry grabbed him by both of his arms, muttering "We're already in enough trouble as it is. Do you want to make things worse?"  
  
Despite the low tone of Harry's voice, Draco must have heard them, because he leaned forward. "You're in trouble? Really Potter? What kind of trouble? Does Dumbledore know?"  
  
"Look Malfoy, Harry and Ron just need a little extra studying time for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Rose said we could use her office during dinner tonight. Do you have a problem with that?" Hermione took a menacing step towards Draco, drawing herself up to her full height.  
  
Luckily, Draco backed down.  
  
"Fine, Granger. But just you wait until the Triwizard Tournament. I'll be in it and I'll win and then we'll see who the professors around here take a liking to. You won't be so perfect any more Potter! No one's going to die because of you this year."  
  
Harry practically growled, "No one died because of me. I didn't kill Cedric. Voldemort did."  
  
"Oh fine, you can see it your way and I'll see it mine," Draco replied flippantly, waving them away with his hand as he proceeded to dinner.  
  
Hermione continued to scowl long after the Slytherin boy had left their sight. "I really really hate him."  
  
**********  
  
A/N: Yeah, short, dumb chapter, I know. I just wanted to explain why Ophelia is being, well, a bitch, kinda. I promise that the Triwizard Tournament is coming up soon! I just have to write the different challenges. That is not going to be easy, mind you, but I got myself into it, eh? 


End file.
